


Three Days Already

by raven_aorla



Series: Our Agency [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM enthusiasts yet no BDSM, Canon Queer Character, Canon Trans Character, Cissexism, Happy Ending, Intersex Character, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Polyamory, The good guys have mental health issues, Transmisogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Pierre's new datefriend goes missing, he's got to step up. His friends and lovers hold the ladder.</p><p>Meanwhile, Chev's got no time to be scared. They're busy being awesome.</p><p>[New-reader-friendly.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Time Out of Mind series timeline, this takes place during "Tomorrow and Tomorrow". If you have not read that series and are just interested in Our Agency, here's some background:
> 
> \- Several characters met just over a year ago at Vernon Psychiatric Crisis Center, located where Mount Vernon is in our universe. In real life, 17-year-old Pierre Etienne/Peter Stephen du Ponceau became close friends with Hamilton, Laurens, and Lafayette at Valley Forge, and met, like, all the important Americans of the time because he was von Steuben's translator.
> 
> \- John Laurens, fresh from a suicide attempt, initially failed to recognize Martha the (Med) Tech at Vernon Psych as his long-lost sister "Missy", due to his trauma, the unlikeliness of it, and her weight gain and glasses. She announced herself once she felt he could handle it, and they're currently roommates. John works as an assistant to a fellow suicide survivor, natural historian Meriwether Lewis.
> 
> \- Pierre and Friedrich both have Tourette's Syndrome. Pierre's includes occasional echolalia (the compulsion to repeat after others). This is not only a reference to his real-life interpreting, but ironic counterpart to Peter Stephen du Ponceau's contributions to the field of linguistics after he became American and changed his name.

\---

_The Tumblr Post_

MISSING PERSON  
OCTOBER 31, 2016

“Chev”, 23, last heard from around 1pm October 29, left Fredericksburg, VA for visa appt. at the French embassy in DC. Chev expected to be back that evening.

[Picture]

Presentation: Varies, but would have been as male for appointment.  
Other Notes: They/Them (PM for details if relevant)  
Name on ID: Charles-Genevieve Beaumont d’Eon (hyphen is correct)

The police aren’t taking this seriously, and the French embassy says they know nothing. Please, if you have no information, at least reblog. Thank you.

#signal boost #missing person #nonbinary #trans #hate crime?

\---

_The Text Conversation_

  
JL: I clicked the link. Holy shit. What do you need?

PE: You live closest to embassy of anyone I know. Frie & I need to strategize. Can we stay?

JL: Sure. Be careful of trick-or-treaters. Missy’s at work, but I’m home.

PE: I feel bad putting so much info online, but what if they're unconscious when found, you know? Keeping back the really private stuff unless I HAVE to

JL: We’ll find them. Have you told Lafayette?

PE: No. We’ll need someone w deniability to bail us out if we do something desperate.

******\----** ** **

_Last Saturday Night_

They were cold, and the floor was hard. France better be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I follow Wikipedia's example and do not use pronouns for the real d'Eon, since we don't know what d'Eon would have wanted given the choice. A reconstruction of historical d'Eon's gender presentation:
> 
> 1\. Designated male at birth.  
> 2\. Became a spy, as a man, but successfully went undercover as a woman.  
> 3\. During diplomatic career, to get out of a situation (more on that later), declared that d'Eon was a woman who'd been disguised as a man all this time.  
> 4\. Dressed and lived as a woman for the last decades of d'Eon's life, by royal order. However, was not stripped of the title of Chevalier or any medals, becoming Mademoiselle de Beaumont, Chevaliere d'Eon.  
> 5\. Found post-mortem to have what the doctors referred to as "male organs", but also breasts and a feminine build/proportions.


	2. rewind-wind-wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit on how we got here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for 
> 
> \- brief, dark humor about fictional rape scene tropes  
> \- reference to nonconsensual drugging by pot brownie

_31 October 2016, 8:42 PM_

When John opened the door, Pierre burst in like water when a dam broke. He dropped a duffel bag and shrugged off a backpack, both onto the floor. "I love you, John. Now I need a hug, a bathroom break, and a vat of coffee. In that order."

"By 'vat' he means 'cup'," Friedrich said, closing the door behind him.

"Will's the one who calls you daddy, not me," Pierre complained over his shoulder even as he went in for the hug. "It's been almost three days already. That means I mustn't sleep."

Friedrich sighed. ""Thank you for allowing our abrupt request. Where should I put our things?"

"My room is fine, since you'll be staying there," John said, arms around Pierre, letting himself be squeezed. 

"You're best of friends and best of gentlemen" Pierre mumbled. Then he let go and darted to the bathroom.

"I'd argue about the room, but since we can share a bed with each other and you can't..." Friedrich picked up Pierre's bags.

"Exactly. I texted Missy telling her that you guys are here for an important but not life-threatening reason I'll explain later, and asked if I could sleep in her bed until five, which is when she goes to bed. Then she can chase me onto the couch of she's not comfortable with me lying on the other side. I think it'll be ok. I get up six thirty-ish. Are you hungry?"

"Pierre hasn't eaten anything since breakfast, and I shortened dinner to make the arrangements for Benjy to look after my dog." Friedrich headed for John's bedroom. "So if there's an option to eat together..."

"There is. I tend to have a snack around now anyway. Early dinners before Missy goes on evening shift, you know?" John went to inspect the fridge. He hoped the mundane task would quiet the thumping in his chest.

***  
_29 October 2016, Dark Outside_

Chev's general policy of waking up in unfamiliar circumstances was to not move or make a sound until they had an idea of whether someone was waiting to pounce. Their last slumber party, age thirteen, had been a memorable lesson.

They had clothes on. Good start. Their own clothes. There was a bit light peeking under the door, and through the closed but thin curtains of a small, low, window. There was a blanket on the floor near them, plus an unopened water bottle and protein bar still in the package. Their captors wanted them to feel reassured. How nice. 

It was also something that the manacle around their right wrist wasn't too tight, right? Their hand felt okay. Learning how to fence left-handed would make for excellent Princess Bride movie jokes but would otherwise suuuuuuck.

It was all quiet. They mentally sang all of "American Pie" to themself, which they knew took about seven minutes in correct tempo, and still nothing happened. So they sat up. 

The chain was connected to a radiator, which wasn't hot enough to make the bathroom (it was a bathroom) cozy, but hot enough that Chev was leery of fiddling with it without at least a shirt wrapped around their hand. They filed the thought away. 

It was a half-bath, so no bathtub or shower. They could reach the toilet well enough to sit on it, which had probably been the primary motivation for locking them in here rather than somewhere else. Cleanliness, this time, was next to god-what's-wrong-with-you-people-ness. 

They couldn't reach the sink. They couldn't reach the window. The chain had enough slack to let them stand if they were really close to the radiator. Position wise, their options were to sit on the floor, lie on the floor, sit on the toilet, stand next to the radiator, strain like a dog on a leash, or flop around like a dying fish. Maybe if they got super bored or antsy. Might as well confound and confuse the evil henchmen. 

Was someone hoping to get Pierre to beg Lafayette to ransom them? Nobody else sufficiently rich gave a damn about Chev, and Chev only believed Pierre had a chance of succeeding because of how much all Pierre's Doms seemed to dote on him. What else could it be? Fanfiction suggested that most of the other things Chev could think of would be set in a basement or boudoir. They stopped thinking about fetishes. Unproductive. 

They took a sip of the water. Last thing they could remember was the parking garage nearest the embassy, walking down the stairs and out to walk the sixteen billion blocks, because DC had about five parking spots and they were all in Oklahoma, basically. After that, a flash of -

Their throat got tight, and their hands shook as they replaced the cap. 

Then they listened to new something inside, the voice saying, _D'Eon, you gotta fend for yourself. Look around, look around. Just stay alive. That would be enough._ They put the bottle down and felt their way through shadows. 

***

_22 October 2016, Evening_

As was standard for embassies, France's American one had a number of local staff, filling out the ranks in the less diplomatically-oriented jobs that nevertheless allowed diplomacy to happen. Louis "Louie" Pontiere thought himself very lucky for landing a spot in the Consular section straight out of grad school. He was good at being in the background, shuffling papers and names around as part of a long Gutenberg machine that led to France and America doing slightly better as a unit. At least a little. Aiding in the process.

The head of Consular clearly had a raging crush on him, too, which was useful to cultivate. Especially now. So he invited Monsieur Claude Guerchy out for drinks, on a deliberately flimsy pretext. He carefully drank more water and less alcohol than his superior did.

"You've seemed particularly stressed lately, Claude." Louie shifted a little closer to him. "Visa line woes?"

Claude grumble-sighed. "Usually this is a simple country for that. But - between us, of course..."

_"Mais oui."_

"You have a nice accent. Keep it up. Between us, I have a very tricky applicant. Birth certificate name and current name difference, not so much trouble. If it were a matter of a sex change part way through life, manageable. But there is no consistency here! Back and forth, birth says boy, university says man, yet girls' school for a year, back to public school as a boy, traveled to Puerto Rico with an all-girls' sports team, and when it comes to outward appearance, I don't know. Claim to have doctor's note and will bring it. I'm going to have to handle it myself."

Louie noted a level of viciousness and pain that went beyond bureaucratic headaches, and knew there had to be a story there. Time to risk it. "Does the applicant go to school in Fredericksburg, Virginia?"

Claude froze. "I wasn't charged with anything, no matter what this kid told you."

"What?"

"What?"

"I think we've both got some reasons to be upset. Why don't we take this conversation somewhere private, hm?" Louie touched his arm, just two fingertips.

***

_21 October 2016_

Chev made sure Pierre was lying on his side. They lightly rubbed and scratched at his scalp. "Feelin' alright?"

Pierre rubbed his face against Chev's thigh. "I'm always gonna get caned by sabre champions. Always always. I won't setle for any less. That means yes. You're so good. Magnifique."

"Do I stack up to Lafayette?"

"Lafa-who?"

"Want me to take pics of the bruises later?"

"Maybe." Pierre pulled Chev down for a lopsided kiss. After they finished - they took their time - he asked, "You have a Fetlife account, right? Can I put on there that we're play partners?"

"You want to?"

"Um, yeah. Also, uh, maybe datefriends?"

Chev grinned. "Sure."

"Now I want to do something that makes you feel good."

"I feel good now."

"Is it the..." Pierre gestured at Chev's fully-clothed torso. "If you really don't want to, that's fine, but if it's being worried about my reaction, don't. Whatever you have, tell me what to do that you'll like."

"Have you ever been with a trans woman who'd been on hormones awhile?" 

"Yes."

"The physical aspects are, uh, somewhat like that, but because of an intersex variation. Plus I haven't got the biggest package."

Pierre shrugged. "I want to touch you, however that works best."

Chev kissed him again. "You gotta get off me, first."

"Okay, changed my mind. Too comfortable." 

"I'd spank you if I thought you could take it at this point." They smiled and took their shirt off. 

***

_February 2016_

Aaron asked Missy to come early that evening, so he could leave early for important family reasons. An extra-long shift was not Missy's favorite thing ever. Working with Eliza was pleasant, though. Nothing against other people they worked with. Eliza was just...Eliza. She had Eliza-ness. Like everything was going to be okay, if she had anything to say about it.

They were supervising Sharps Hour, various patients using various slightly but not very dangerous things all around them, but today it was peaceful. 

"Can I ask you a question?"

Eliza paused in taking notes on her clipboard. "Sure, Martha. What's on your mind?"

"If a patient told you he or she had done something illegal, but you were sympathetic towards the motives, would you report them?"

She didn't do a double take or make a face. "I believe in following laws, but sometimes laws are wrong."

***

_October 2015_

"Why does that twitchy bit of jailbait get to have you? Don't you care how many other people play with him? What does he offer that I don't?"

"We've been over this. Stop screeching and get off my doorstep."

Pierre, hastily wrapped in a robe, peeked out from behind Friedrich like a wary kitten. "I'm - doorstep - sure we could share, mister. Let's talk about it."

Fredrich put a protective around arm around him. "No, mein Schatz, Louie and I are past that point."

"I hate you!"

"I understand." Friedrich moved to close the door.

Louie pointed at Pierre, scowling. "I hate you even more!" 

"Have fun with that, I guess," Pierre said, letting himself be bundled back inside.

***

_2 Years Ago_

Charles-Genevieve vanished and stopped answering Claude's calls after the brownies incident. He'd just wanted them to relax a little. They got so self-conscious, and didn't seem all that grateful about Claude's reassurance that he didn't mind a bit of weirdness at all. 

Then the police searched Claude's house on an "anonymous tip". It took a lot of namedropping, string-pulling, and grovelling to get out of that one. 

***

_5 Years Ago_

"Alexander, you need to slow down."

"But there's so much to do!"

Lafayette sighed and texted Adrienne that he needed to babysit his manic friend again. Meanwhile Alexander was typing on his laptop so fast the desk rattled.

***

_11 Years Ago_

"We know you're being bullied at school. It breaks our hearts. Your dad and I have some ideas, but we want to ask you...honey?"

"Your mom and I want to ask you if you feel more like a boy or a girl. We love you either way."

Charlie tugged nervously at the shirt that kept getting tighter and tighter each month. "Are bad things gonna happen if I don't pick?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- If you're new to this AU, the "Aaron" mentioned was Aaron Burr. In this world he's a psychiatric nurse, like my Eliza Schuyler.
> 
> \- Louis de Pontiere was the *other* young guy Baron von Steuben is known to have brought from France, as an aide-de-camp. Du Ponceau's initial title was "military secretary". I apologize to the real one, who might well have been a decent guy.
> 
> \- Comte de Guerchy, who had Claude as one of his cluster of Famous French Guy names, was the French ambassador to England who took over from the Chevalier d'Eon's interim leadership and became d'Eon's new boss. To say they didn't get along is like saying Aaron Burr was miffed at Hamilton - d'Eon claimed Guerchy tried to drug d'Eon.
> 
> \- There is no way to be sure about d'Eon, but my Chev has Aromatase Excess Syndrome, which results in an excess of estrogen. If the person with it has an XY chromosome, they are born with a normally-shaped but unusually tiny penis (intervention is possible in later life to make it small rather than tiny), but in puberty start growing breasts and do not grow facial hair. Their bones will have an early growth spurt but stop growing young, resulting in being not very tall, and the bone structure will appear feminine. It's a rare syndrome, with a variety of gender identities among described cases. Enough academics think that Queen Nefertiti's husband might have had it that I've seen pictures of statues of him is used in articles.
> 
> \- I realize you might not have time or spoons to leave comments, and that's fine, and I am thankful for you kudos and readership. I just want to say that if you do have time and spoons, I really love comments. Really love them. Thank you. <3


	3. future drip dripping down the drain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we move forward until we get to now, with a better idea of why now is happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are brief, mild dysphoria feels here.

_2012_

“Oh for the sake of whatever saints you care to invoke, don’t leave them standing there. I’ll fence them. If they lose, no need for further action. Chev, do you mind fencing a grad student?”

“Not at all. Much appreciated.” They saluted with as much flair as they could manage, then put on their mask. _En garde._

A few minutes later, Lafayette was shaking their hand, and also shaking his head with rueful amusement. “You can lunge surprisingly far.”

“Thank you. It means a lot from you, especially, but I’m afraid no deed goes unpunished.” Their hand was small in Lafayette’s grip, but their own grip was strong. Their grin very wide.

***

_2013_

“I’m taking time off from college. I’ve run away from home a little bit, at least until they’ve had time to see my side of it, until they understand why I can’t let them put a box,” the lovely street musician ended up confessing. 

Someone in a rush meets someone looking pretty, drops a $10 bill in the open violin case, offers an opportunity for a good meal somewhere warm later...a variation on one of the older tricks in the book. 

Claude patted the youth’s thigh. “I’m sorry to hear that.” It was the first lie.

***

_2014_

Chev rapped on the door before letting themself in. “Swedish fish for Miss Poisson?”

“How original of you,” Reinette said dryly, reaching out and letting her friend place the bag of gummy candy in her hand. “What’s the occasion?”

“I know you’re a bit down about the drama with the Student Council. I’m on your side. Haters gonna hate.” Reinette had let them cry on her shoulder about cutting ties with Claude a few weeks ago, and as far as they were concerned, she was their uncrowned queen.

“Aw, thanks. I’m studying at the moment, but in about an hour I was thinking of watching some Doctor Who, if you want to join me. The summary says they get trapped in an 18th century French palace that has mysterious portals to a 51st century spaceship.”

“I’ve got a lot of stuff to do and - wait, are your feet resting on a human under your desk?”

“He’s happy there,” Reinette assured him. “Slutty freshmen have their uses. Pierre, this is Chev. You may say hello to them.”

“Hi,” said a soft, dreamy voice. 

“Are you gonna watch the show, too?” Chev asked, and a thumbs-up emerged from the depths.

 

***

_September 2015_

“Whose idea was it to play Never Have I Ever with Franklin? I’m traumatized.” Alexander yawned and burrowed into the narrow psych ward bed. 

“It was your idea,” John said from a few feet away. “You handled all of Pierre’s implied escapades fine.”

“Yeah, but Pierre’s not a dirty old man...I’m not being that serious. It was nice of him to play with us. Anything to drown out Thomas and James loudly agreeing on politics. G’night, cinnamon roll.”

“Goodnight...uh...snickerdoodle? Why are we calling each other baked goods?”

The door cracked open. “Positive socialization is great. You know what’s even greater?”

“Getting enough sleep,” Alexander recited.

Cato, self-proclaimed sneakiest of all Night Shift, nodded enthusiastically and shut the door. 

***

_16 October 2016_

Claude woke with Louie in his arms. At first his brain found nothing wrong with this. Then his brain recalled the conversation that had led to them being in bed together, and alarm bells started ringing. He disengaged and tried to get his breathing under control.

“I won’t report you for inappropriate conduct or something,” Louie said, his eyes still closed.

If only that were the most worrisome thing about this scenario. Claude couldn’t figure out what to say.

Louie took ahold of one of his hands and kissed the fingers. “Don’t freak out about that part either.”

“Excuse me?” Claude didn’t take his hand back, though. It had been awhile.

“What you said. What I said. Nothing like a new lover to teach a lesson to an ex-lover, don’t you agree?” Louie reeled him in.

***

_30 October 15_

Nothing happened until dawn. The faucet had dripped every eight minutes (Chev checked), which helped with noting the passage of time. When the bathroom door was being opened, there were about ten seconds of key and bolt noises first. It was a very useful warning. Chev stopped what they were doing and curled into their most pitiful-looking fetal position.

A sliver of additional light heralded a man (Chev decided to go with ‘man’ until further notice) with his face covered up with a surgical-style mask. The person was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses as well, and a bulky coat that obscured their actual build. This was good news. If the captors had let Chev see anything identifiable, that would have meant they didn’t intend on Chev reaching the outside world ever again. 

He had a sheet of paper in one gloved hand. Chev didn’t break character and let out a surprised giggle when he folded it into a paper airplane, but it was a near thing. He threw the paper airplane close to them, and stood there expectantly.

Chev sniffled for effect as they fetched it and read it. The typed message read:

_If you scream, nobody else is going to hear you, but we’ll find it tedious. And you will find our measures to make you stop even less enjoyable. Stay quiet for the next 12 hours, and then we’ll give you a few magazines to read._

“I understand. Just...just please don’t hurt me.” Chev hoped this wasn’t going too far over the top. The last time they’d cried for real was after the breast reduction, when their parents shouted at them for not consenting to a double mastectomy like they were supposed to. It was extra stupid, because they didn’t even need to wear a binder to hide them anymore, just sports bras and loose shirts. Just like how the other obvious sign of Aromatase Excess Syndrome in someone with XY chromosomes, the curvy hips and butt, had been possible to de-emphasize with carefully chosen pants and skirts when they wanted to. That was a far cry from just cutting off something their mind said should be there. _I don’t want them in the way or hurting my back. I don’t want them gone. You might want to shorten a toe that was too long and kept you from being able to wear shoes you wanted to wear, but that wouldn’t mean wanting to amputate the toe!_

The crying hadn’t made things right. An academic year on their own, showing that they could live in the world on their own terms, was what had made things right. Chev had been considerate and periodically let their parents know they were in one piece, and would come home when they were at peace. 

The man rolled another water bottle along the floor, and slid another of those protein bars. Then the door closed and locked and barred again. 

This meant the maximum amount of time until the next visit. Chev finished the rest of the first food ration. Then they fetched the toilet plunger they’d found tucked behind the toilet. Their captors must not have been the same people who furnished the bathroom. It was shorter than some toilet plungers, which had helped it escape notice. That plus Chev’s right hand had a much better reach than Chev’s left hand at full strain, though. 

Time to go back to figuring out the latch and nudging the window open. _En garde._

***

_Now_

Begrudgingly having eaten something, Pierre started pacing up and down John’s living room. More of a stalk, really. “Reinette told me that Chev didn’t just take a year off, they went AWOL for for several months, which is one of the reasons the police are being so nonchalant and patronizing about Chev vanishing now. They had reports of the event on file under Chev’s legal name. The others are that this is a party weekend, and of course the second Friedrich told them it might not immediately be apparent what gender or sex our missing person is, they suddenly went even more lackadaisical.”

“You had Friedrich call?” John asked, curled up on the sofa and organizing the leftover candy. Missy was allergic to confectioner’s glaze, aka shellac, aka lac beetle secretions, and if he looked through the ingredients list for her now she could just dig in later. It wasn’t the highest priority but he needed something to focus his energy on. 

“I thought they’d have more respect for a middle-aged one hundred percent white guy. I’m the one who called the French embassy, though, because I’m a dual citizen and they have certain obligations to help French citizens in America. Nothing. Not even a record of the appointment. Would Chev lie to me about that?” Pierre paused. “I should get a piece of paper and list all the possible factors here. Brainstorm. And then make a list of people who might know something. Anyone who might be able to help, anyone who might let some things slide.”

Friedrich had insisted on doing the dishes, but the sound of running water stopped and he stepped into view. “Pierre, you still have some of your Stabbed Confederate ghost makeup on. The washcloth didn’t get it all. Maybe take a break and a shower?”

Pierre didn’t directly acknowledge the suggestion. “Reinette is on an archeological dig right now, but when I told her Chev hadn’t shown up for the Ghost Walk they’d helped organize, she told me I wasn’t being unduly anxious. That it was a big deal. Chev wouldn’t skip out on a commitment like that without at least a cryptic apology. Lists, make some lists, maybe make more calls in the morning. I’ve stopped wasting time on tears. I have so much work to - oh.”

“What?” John asked. 

Something that looked much like Alexander’s mania started thrumming through Pierre, yet it was all insulated by a layer of icy calm. “That game we played. Never Have I Ever. Remember that game?” 

Friedrich raised a hand, like he was the student here. “As in the game teenagers and drunk undergrads play that according to all of you ends up with everyone making lewd confessions?” 

“That’s what he means. But which do you mean, Pierre? The first one? At Vernon?” John wondered what lewd confessions had to do with the French Embassy.

“Yes. Does someone have Benjamin Franklin’s number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- New readers: Cato is a reference to Hercules Mulligan's slave Cato, who carried Mulligan's secret messages to Washington. I couldn't find info on what happened to Cato, but Mulligan helped found an abolitionist organization after the war, so I choose to imagine Mulligan wasn't a hypocrite and Cato had a happily ever after. Please?
> 
> \- There is a point at which I'm not gonna research details anymore, and at which I am no longer interested in making it realistic as long as its not ludicrous. In this case, it's the ins and outs of college fencing tournaments. You get the idea. 
> 
> \- D'Eon was a major supporter of Antoinette "Reinette" Poisson/Madame du Pompadour during a time when she had many political enemies, though I doubt d'Eon ever gave her candy. 
> 
> \- Whovians, that was for you.
> 
> \- Thank you for the comments, my lovelies. I've been reading them over and over.


	4. took up a collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just as much about who you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't read Sharps Hour, here's additional in-alternate-universe context to hitherto-unmentioned characters in the flashback:
> 
> Sam = Samuel Seabury, an Episcopalian minister - actually a real sweetheart - who suffers from paranoid delusions
> 
> Jay = John Jay, a political journalist who climbed out of severe depression and is now writing a book about a scandal involving George King III which affected many characters
> 
> Thomas = Thomas Jefferson, idle, academically-inclined heir to a swivel-chair patent fortune with Bipolar II
> 
> James = James Madison, patent lawyer with OCD (but also a really amazing wife)

While Pierre was explaining his reasoning to Friedrich and conferring about how to get in touch with Franklin, John got himself a drink and thought about that game.

It was at some point in his second week at Vernon. He was hazy about the exact day, or night, rather. Alexander proposed it as a way for a few of them to spend the post-dinner pre-lights-out Social Hour. Sam and Jay were playing the most tentative and gentle game of Scrabble, ever, Sam tiny in one of the oversized soft sweaters his brother had brought him before returning to Canada, and Jay doing the math on the respective point value per word before actually laying it down. Thomas and James, meanwhile, were pontificating on the debt crisis, as they had been for hours whenever left to their own devices. Before her shift ended, Eliza had persuaded Alexander to not jump into that. 

The rest of them played in Pierre’s room - he still didn’t have a new roommate yet - with the door open, rather than the common room. This was on “Martha the Tech’s” suggestion. “I don’t want to hear what you say if it turns dirty.”

John remembered asking Alexander if Martha the Tech always looked sad when she talked to John, and Alexander said yeah, he didn’t know what was up with that. “I don’t want this to be intense like when Eliza had us do the Intersectionality Drinking Game, so let’s keep this either mundane or funny, k guys?”

The game hadn’t turned dirty right away. Alexander, Pierre, John, Franklin, and Lewis played properly at first, holding out their fingers and putting one down whenever they had ever done something.

“Never have I ever been to Europe,” Alexander said. Pierre, John, and Franklin put a finger down.

“Never have I ever gone camping,” Franklin said. Everyone else put a finger down. 

They determined that only Lewis had spent much time in the Midwest, and he was the only one who hadn’t studied French. However, Pierre was the only one to have studied an Asian language. Only Alexander had been through some form of natural disaster. Everyone either had published writing, or had written extensive works they were trying to get published. And so on. Discarding the normal rules, they did another round every time someone ran out of fingers.

Franklin, being the oldest and having the most varied life, had trouble finding ordinary things that were true for others for but not true for him. That’s when the game hit the tipping point. “Never have I ever had sex with a man.”

“Oh come on,” Alexander complained, because the rest of them all had. “Fine, never have I ever had sex with more than one person at a time.”

Pierre stuck his tongue out and put down a finger. 

Lewis soon stopped playing fair, as well. “Never have I ever had sex with someone I was in romantic love with.”

“EVERYONE STOP USING YOUR ORIENTATIONS TO GET POINTS,” Alexander wailed.

“It’s not like we’re playing for anything,” John said. “We’re not even keeping score.”

This is how they found out that Franklin, during a few years in Paris securing aid for an organization he was working with, had pursued affairs with a significant number of influential ladies. Some of whom were now working at the French Embassy to the U.S. 

It was a slender thread, especially a year later, but Pierre was clearly ready to try any slender threads available. 

“That might be a lead, but I don’t have his number,” Friedrich said, once briefed. “We were only roommates for a short time. Amiable but not close.”

John checked his phone. “I got a text from Alexander. He’s freaking out about your tumblr post, Pierre. Is it alright if I call him?”

“All right if I call him, tumblr - gahhh. Yes. Me, I trust him.” Pierre flopped onto the sofa, hugging himself.

Alexander picked up on the first ring. “JesusJohnthisismesseduphowcanIhelp?”

“You’re on speaker. Do you have Franklin’s contact info?”

“No, but Jay would. Jay interviewed all of us for his expose, right? When’s it dropping? It’s dropping in a week or three, right? I could organize your information. I could ask Thom about diplomatic protocols, because I swear he’s gotta know those backwards and forwards by now. I can also keep an eye on tumblr re your post and various social media in general, I do a lot of social media, you know I do a lot of social media…”

“All of them!” Pierre declared. “But also take your meds and eat and sleep and do normal life and so on.”

“Pot, kettle, little gecko,” Friedrich said, sitting down next to him.

“We’ll check in later, Alexander. Feel free to text me.” John resigned himself to his phone getting blown up with texts shortly. It was a small price to pay to advance their cause and keep Alexander channeling his mania and worry productively. Eliza said non-channeled negative emotions plus mania resulted in Alexander getting in fights, usually intellectual ones. Usually.

Jay did have Franklin’s number, and he handed it over without questioning their reasons. “Happy Halloween, guys.”

“You too,” John said. “Say hi to Sarah from us.”

Then it came time to call Franklin. Pierre did it on his phone, since John realized his needed charging. Friedrich had what Pierre called “a dumbphone”, and the speakers weren’t loud, either.

“This is Ben Franklin’s number, right?” Pierre asked on pickup.

“Yes -” said a voice. 

John was about to say something, but Pierre didn’t give him time. “Franklin, this is Pierre from Vernon, though John Laurens and Friedrich are listening in as well. We really need to get some information from the French Embassy. I tried, using the whole dual citizenship thing as leverage, but I - HURL - wasn’t able to get help through normal channels. Do you know someone who might be sympathetic towards an...irregular line of questioning, maybe? It’s a potentially life-or-death matter, and authorities aren’t helping. Ideally we’d have someone who could find personnel files and other sensitive but unclassified information, like quasi-legally but for a really important cause, but I don’t know anyone with the kind of computer knowledge that could do that quickly and cleanly -” 

No matter what, Pierre eventually had to pause to breathe a real, non hyperventilated breath. That’s when the voice interrupted. The voice John had been about to warn Pierre was significantly higher than Franklin’s. “Um, Uncle Frank can take your call in a few minutes. He asked me to pick up for him while he’s in the bathroom? But, I gotta say, your problem sounds interesting? I might be able to bring something to the table, at least with the computer part.”

Pierre said something in Vietnamese that was probably a curse word. Then he said, “I’m embarrassed now, but that’s really sweet of you, and if you can help... What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Ada Lovelace. My friends in the Comp Sci grad program call me Countess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- To the best of my knowledge, all the non-sexual things said in that game of Never Have I Ever are accurate for their historical counterparts. 
> 
> \- Sensitive but Unclassified is a term used for things that are not state secrets but should not be released to the general public. Such as these things that'd be relevant to our squad: personnel files, the majority of inter-office memos (particularly among the lower level employees), people's vacation schedules, mailing addresses, profiles and bios...
> 
> \- Who better for a bit of light hacking than the inventor of computer programming?


	5. taken over all his correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some brief exchanges, and an oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually want to focus on a Tomorrow and Tomorrow update soon, but Alexander's final text message was in my head and needed to be free. It needed to be free, but in context.
> 
> (People ask where I get my ideas. I say my ideas assault me.)
> 
> Initials guide at the end, since I want to give readers the fun of figuring it out, if that's their thing, but I also wish to be accessible.
> 
> Warning that from here on out, Louie's going to constantly misgender Chev.

AL: Cabbage, on a scale of 1-10, how mad would you be if I used the Difference Engine for slight crime? 

AL: Teensy eeesny weesny crime?

AL: Against obstructive bureaucrats causing harm by not sharing info?

CB: You want to do WHAT with OUR BABY?

AL: Careful, your fiancee's gonna misunderstand if you keep calling the Diff. that.

AL: Though I like the Diff. better than anything my uterus ever gave me...

CB: This is really important?

AL: Really important. I'm only asking as a courtesy. It's the software that matters here.

CB: You wound me, Countess. 

AL: What better way to foil tracing attempt than use a completely original language on an unprecedented system?

CB: If you get in trouble, I don't know you.

AL: Apparently everyone used to say that to my dad. 

CB: Your dad argued his housing agreement didn't forbid BEARS.

AL: I wish I'd known him better.

\---

CG: Picked up dinner. On my way back.

LP: Get back soon. He shredded the magazine for spite.

CG: I told you, spiteful thing. 

\---

AH: I checked. That's Ada's correct contact info. So you want me to work with her in directing her grayhatting and making sense of whatever she finds, right?

PE: grayhatting?

AH: Black Hat Hacker = hacks for money/mayhem. White Hat Hacker = paid to legally hack to protect against Black Hat. Gray Hat = hacks for mild mischief/vigilantism.

PE: Yes. AFTER YOU HAVE SLEPT A BIT and DONE YOUR NORMAL WORK, please also monitor any sightings of Chev's car (pic and plates in a sec), and police reports.

AH: Don't worry, Thom will probably confiscate my devices at some point. I'm at his place & he's looking up admin protocols for different contry's embs

PE: I need you to promise me that you won't hold back if someone finds Chev dead. If I can't trust you to tell me right away, I'll worry every moment I'm awake.

AH: I promise.

PE: I need you to swear.

AH: I swear.

PE: I need you to swear by something that really matters to you.

AH: I swear by my mother's grave, my cousin's rope, and my father's absence. I swear by the last hug my brother ever gave me. I swear by the few days I myself was missing and I walked the streets famished. I swear by the fact that I survived all that, just like you'll survive this.

PE: That'll do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of these notes are repeats from other fics, but there are so many fics in this series that I figure it's not a bad idea to bring things up again when they're relevant.
> 
> AL = Ada Lovelace, who always wanted to know more about her estranged father, Lord Byron, whom she only met a handful of times. He took a pet bear cub to Oxford when they wouldn't let him keep a dog. Technically, no rule against it. On her request, she was buried next to him after she died young of uterine cancer. In this AU, she got the cancer younger, but it was treated in time.
> 
> CA = Charles Babbage, who designed the Difference Engine, a proto-computer that he didn't finish, but that she wrote the first ever computer programs for. Also did sciencey things in general. Their relationship has every indication of having been platonic, and there isn't enough documented male & female platonic friendship in history, so I've kept it that way. I hope somebody in his life called him Cabbage. It would be such a waste if nobody had.
> 
> CG = Claude Guerchy (or Comte de Guerchy). D'Eon's conflict with Guerchy started a chain of events that led to d'Eon being exiled from France. D'Eon wants to go to France, is that so much to ask?
> 
> LP = Louie Pontiere/Louis de Pontiere. Of whom I know nothing that I haven't already said. Here he's deliberately misgendering Chev out of spite and transmisogyny. Claude isn't calling it out because he himself is only really using the "they" out of habit.
> 
> PE = Pierre, whose name I'm glad to have simplified in relation to the two different once du Ponceau had. All these continentals with all their naaaaaaames.
> 
> AH = A.Ham, so unnecessarily eloquent and passionate. In this universe he is currently dating both Eliza Schuyler and Thom Pinckney, who himself has a girlfriend named Liz. John is Alexander's queerplatonic partner. Alexander set him up with Ned Stevens, his best friend since adolescence. I love lams as a romantic ship, but it didn't work for these iterations.
> 
> I feel like I used the term somewhere, so to be on the safe side: in polyamory, a "metamour" is a term that can be used for someone who shares a (romantic/sexual/BDSM) partner with you, but is not directly your partner. Chev is Friedrich's metamour, Eliza and Thom are metamours, etc.


	6. write my way out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's check in with Chev again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have spent a lot of time working this chapter out, folks. What do you think? About my state of mind, if nothing else? XD

_Chev was pretty sure their two observers - they was ninety percent sure there were two guys checking on them, though maybe there was a larger team - had fallen for it. Better for them to think Chev had thrown a tantrum, rather than realize what Chev had really been doing._

They spent much of the twelve hours before getting their magazine reward teaching themself how to open the window and close it again. It would get both cold and suspicious if they simply left it open. They had to strain pretty hard to get the plunger handle close enough, and their right wrist didn't feel peachy keen, but still. Success for Phase 1. Bless the decade-plus of point control practice, and for spending years on the stabby pokey epee as well as slicey slashy sabre. There was a screen, but it wouldn't be too hard to tear it when the time came.

Frequent breaks were important, too. Chev suspected they were deliberately being underfed, to make them a bit woozy and faint. They were getting enough water, though, and the hunger had faded into vague hollowness. They lined the empty water bottles in neat rows against the wall. 

The magazine had been tossed at them when it was getting dark again. They instinctively parried it with their right forearm. The tosser (British pun!) had laughed. 

There wasn't much Chev could do for the plan when it was dark, so they folded the soft rug into a kind of pillow and curled up under the blanket. They'd slept on benches and under bridges a few times during their "gone year", as ‘Charlie’ for safety, curled around their duffel bag and their violin case, with a switchblade knife tucked into their sports bra. 

Then ‘Genevieve’ dropped by the food court at a nearby mall, where a woman named Yelisaveta had given ‘Charlie’ a free lunch the previous day. Yelisaveta ended up letting ‘Genevieve’ sleep on her couch in exchange for doing chores. Yelisaveta was bossy but kind, and told them some good stories about Russia. She also shared anything from the court she could get her hands on. It was a big help in supplementing what cash Chev made busking. The one thing that rankled was having to maintain the feminine persona to be able to get inside and not thrown out Yelisaveta's home. 

In retrospect, Claude’s willingness to shelter someone he knew wasn’t a woman - and his soft bed, and his nimble fingers - hadn’t been worth the switch. 

Those thoughts weren’t helping with sleep, so Chev thought about why they were getting the visa in the first place. Work visas were harder than tourist visas, but Chev had never gotten an offer so perfectly suited to them before. A whole summer in the French countryside, at an English-immersion camp for teenagers, as their fencing instructor, and the management okay with Chev being themself. They could sock away the money to help with law school. The only reason they hadn’t told everyone was that they’d promised not to until all the paperwork was settled. Some extended family in France had helped them with the application. The ones that had accepted them from the get-go. 

Pierre often went to France in the summer, and maybe…

Maybe.

They slept a bit. The check-ins tended to wake them up. The captors must have watched TV at some point. They could hear murmurs and bits of music, but nothing distinct.

When it was light again, on what was probably October 31 (haha), they started on Phase 2. They removed the lid on the toilet tank and dipped one of the water bottles into the water, which wasn’t clean enough for Chev to drink unless they were desperate, but cleaner than water in the bowl. This would give the bottle some ballast. 

They’d spent a lot of time thinking about what to use as glue, too. They tried removing the labels. The residual stickiness underneath wouldn’t be enough. They considered the various fluids within their reach.

They briefly considered the stickiest of the fluids they could get their hands on, but no. First: whoever who found this might get the wrong idea. Second: Chev wasn’t sure their ability to block out their circumstances and get in the right mood was that strong. Third: If either guy walked in while Chev was mid-production, as it were, it wouldn’t matter if Chev successfully summoned help. They would already be dead of embarrassment. 

Eventually they tried experimenting with chewing a very small nibble of one of the very dense food bars and making a sort of gross, tacky paste with it. They used a thin layer of that to affix a letter H on the side of the bottle. The letter H was from the magazine. 

It was an issue of Vogue, incidentally. Chev wondered whether it belonged to the captors or whether they, like, stole it. Good thing Chev didn’t subscribe to certain gender biases, because some people would have been demoralized to have been abducted by the sorts of men who might potentially be ardent Vogue readers. It was an issue from two years ago, so this also meant a subscriber who didn’t want to give up a recent one, and who held onto issues that long in the first place.

Chev thought about puns relating to someone having a lot of issues. It passed the time while waiting for the paste to dry and delicately harvesting the largest letters they could find. They read a few articles and enjoyed a few photoshoots while they were at it. _All work and no play makes Chev give into fear._ They didn’t tear a page that had a picture of Lupita Nyong’o on the other side, because, uh, goddess?

They got caught in action at one point, so they let out a snarling sob and tore out several pages in an apparent frenzy. Their observer sighed and shook his head before retreating. Ah, so that one was the Vogue reader. Sorry, dude, think of it as a performance on the subject of decrying toxic beauty standards - not the models themselves, mind you, such as LUPITA - while simultaneously loving the pretty clothes. When (yes, when!) Chev got home, they would plan an expedition to get more high-heeled boots. Winter was coming and they needed to stand tall.

The paste seemed effective. So slowly, very slowly, letting things dry from time to time before continuing, they spelled out the following:

HELP  
AM TRAPPED  
UPPER FLOOR  
NAME IS CHEV

They considered adding ‘call police’, but they were running out of room ,and were afraid of being too heavy-handed about it. That might make people think it was a prank, meme, guerilla art, etc. Similarly, ‘kidnapped’ had a lot of letters, and combined with the cartoonish ransom note look, plus people not wanting to get themselves into a violent situation, it seemed like not the best word.

Chev had two dizzy spells, and when each of them hit, they lay down until the dizziness went away. They thought about contentious Supreme Court cases, and that they were glad they’d made a move on their friend after more than two years. They wouldn’t have to regret that particular thing, at least, if…

If. 

(They didn’t blame their parents if their parents hadn’t started looking yet. At the start of the Gone Year, Chev hadn’t told their family they were okay until more than a week after they vanished on purpose. It had been a cruel way to punish them for trying to make Chev choose a side. The Person Who Implied Wolf, as it were.)

The dizziness was not forever. Then it was time to practice. They filled another of the bottles with the exact same amount of tank water. Chev wasn’t going to risk their precious Message On a Bottle until they had the technique down. 

In order to brush past the curtain, open the window, and force a hole in the screen, Chev had to hold the plunger by the cup end, gripping the section of wood it was attached to. For getting the bottle out the window, Chev turned it around, and balanced the bottle on the cup end, taking advantage of the lip. They ended up pouring out some of the water to make it lighter.

Chev’s favorite way to practice point control was with a golf ball. Hanging from the ceiling by a single string, and everyone taking turns lunging and trying to poke it at the perfect spot and angle to make it swing backwards.

 _TOK_ , the ball would go, when they got it perfectly right. It was one of Chev’s happy sounds. Chev wished they could make it with their vocal chords, but their brain did it.

Their brain did not make the _TOK_ before dark. Best to see how the improvised glue held up overnight, too. Chev hid everything in a decisive manner and ate half a food bar for dinner. They thought about what their perfect house would look like, and how they would decorate it. They thought about both the book and movie _The Martian_ , and if Mark Watney would count this as sciencing the shit out of the situation. 

Halloween night had never been scarier, but they didn’t have time for that. They had their Message On a Bottle. Tomorrow, by all the saints of All Saints’ Day, it was going to go out that window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chevalier d'Eon, during d'Eon's male-presenting spy years, was ordered to infiltrate the court of Empress Elizabeth, sometimes called Yelisaveta, of Russia, while presenting as a woman. Foreign men were not permitted to cross the border at the time. It was a great success. 
> 
> Empress Elizabeth actually knew d'Eon was a French spy. She was secretly supporting France in their various wars, but couldn't go public about it for political reasons. As cover, she kept d'Eon as a maid of honour (as in just below a lady-in-waiting, not as in bridesmaid) until the assignment was over. My favorite fact about the Empress herself is that she refused to order a single person executed during her reign.
> 
> I'm not sorry about the (food) court joke.


	7. best of women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been compelled to include amazing women in this chapter. Work!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody help me stop writing this I have stuff to do

Missy was doing her best to relax. There was a lot that was rewarding about her job, but shifts like this last one reminded her why she wanted to move onto hospital administration instead. Helping people, but at a safer distance. Coming home to the note John had left her hadn’t helped matters.

Fritz, a veteran in his fifties suffering from PTSD and trying out new meds, had treated them to a performance for their tiny after-dinner Halloween party. It had been the highlight of an event that was mostly candy and a viewing of The Nightmare Before Christmas, as something thematic but not likely to be triggering to anyone. He’d gotten special permission to use his flute outside of Sharps Hour, and had arranged a medley of themes from various horror movies.

Less than half an hour later, he dissolved into a shaky, weepy mess recounting how his father killed Fritz’s first boyfriend. After giving him space to share and grieve, Betsy and Missy got him to perk up a bit by asking about his sister's career as a composer, then getting him to talk about his current partner, a Philosophy of Science professor named Francesco. Apparently Fritz used to work with Friedrich, and had chosen Vernon on Friedrich’s recommendation. They both liked Italian greyhounds, but Fritz use to have, like, six or something. Missy had become fond of Fritz after only two days. Seeing a great guy crack like that had shaken her pretty badly.

Then she got John’s text, and then, after a few hours of trying not to worry, she came home to John’s note. She peeked into both bedrooms to verify that everyone was asleep and in one piece. Then she saw John’s other note, felt smoother inside, and started in on the candy he’d sorted for her. She hadn’t had any during the party.

It was three AM when Pierre wandered out into the living room. It couldn’t be to go to the bathroom, since there was an en suite. He was in pajama pants and a college hoodie, and it was like he couldn’t see her, like he couldn’t see anything.

“Having trouble again, sugar?” Missy knew that during John’s stint at Vernon, he’d sometimes hung out with Hercules for up to half an hour in the wee hours of the morning, when his shoulder hurt him or he’d woken up tearful and hollow. His REM cycles timed themselves that way.. Pierre, on the other hand, had frequently woken with a racing heart and a vague sense of terror a few hours earlier. When it was still “Tech Martha’s” shift.

Pierre jumped. Not much, but she could see it. The guy’s Tourette’s was so obvious and exotic that a lot of people missed how incredibly anxious he was at the best of times. These were not the best of times. “I, uh. Yeah. I don’t want to wake Friedrich.”

“I’m allowed to hug you now. C’mere.”

“I forgot you’d be home and awake. I was gonna get a drink or, or, or.” Pierre wavered, then he joined her, let her wrap her arms around him.

Missy was only five years older than him, but she’d learned that in her mind, her patients would always be her brothers, her babies. Even the ones she thought were terrible people. “You don’t have to justify yourself.”

“When I’m not working on it, on finding, justify, finding, yourself, justify, when I’m not.” Pierre timidly hugged her back rather than just sitting inside her embrace. "It makes me think about what might be happening to Chev. Right now. This minute.”

There wasn’t much that could be said for that. Missy just held on and rubbed circles into his back, like she did for John when things temporarily got too much for him.

He didn’t cry per se, but he was brittle, like spun sugar and dry leaves. He said things in languages she didn’t speak, which she knew was on purpose. He wasn’t talking to her.

He did laugh faintly at one point and say, in English, “It happens less when I share a bed, especially - especially with Laf and Adri, because they’re all around, and their house is warm and, and pure, if that makes sense, given what I do with them. Pure, like there’s no doubt or lies, no hiding. R-r-rarely with Friedrich, but he can’t sleep cuddling, he needs space, so sometimes, and I hate to wake him, he sleeps soundly. I’ve only slept with Chev twice, and I was, I was fine, everything was safe…”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Missy said, and other nice things that don’t have much intrinsic meaning.

"I should have done something earlier. I thought it was my, alright, anxiety making me worry when I didn't need to, or maybe now that we've changed the nature of our relationship they needed space. I should have known."

"Look at me." She drew back so they could make eye contact. "It's a very unusual situation. You were being logical. Guess what? You reacted before anyone else did. You noticed they were doing something out of character, which is a sign of understanding and love. Other people have seen your evidence and agreed with you, but you're the one who put the pieces together. You're worth praising, not criticizing."

"I guess so..."

She eventually got him to have some water and go back to bed. She didn’t evict John when she went to bed, just gently nudged him to the far right side and got in the far left. She left a note on the inside doorknob: “I think you should ask for a day off.”

***

“Did you send the emails, Uncle Frank?”

“Yes. Here’s hoping Henrietta’s got some nostalgic feelings going on.”

“Did you really have a fling with the wife of a powerful French politician?”

“Don’t think of her as the now-ex-wife of a powerful French politician, Ada sweetheart. Think of her as a shrewd French diplomat. She’s her own person. Besides, d’Orleans was having affairs with a whole gaggle of rich young Frenchmen. Tit for tat. I should get back to my hotel room. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I’m almost done writing a script that will seek out and aggregate any bit of social media with certain keywords. Then I can let it run and periodically send compressed files to Alexander for him to sort through. If Henrietta doesn’t come through for you, I can do something similar but load it into a virus and aim it at the French Embassy.”

“I didn’t hear the last part. Goodnight, Countess.”

“Hee. Goodnight.”

***

Eliza,

I need to inform you that Alexander stayed up all night working on a time-sensitive project to help his friends with something vital. He then drank a bunch of energy drinks. Combined with his medication interactions, his already having been sleep-deprived, and having skipped a few meals, he’s incapacitated himself. He’s going to be okay, but he’s desperate for his work to be continued, and says you're the person he trusts. I'm going to contribute by taking care of the damn fool.

The links below and attached files will explain the situation and help you understand what Alexander’s trying to do here. He found one thing that may be useful: a security camera image of a car with a matching license plate. With timestamp, and data on where the camera is installed. He wants you to double-check it first, because he's realized his judgment's impaired. I have cc'ed the woman who's gathering the data.

***

Thom,

Thank you. I've passed that photo along. I’ve also gotten another nurse to cover my shift today so I can make sense of these thousands of pages of writing and pictures. Tell Alexander he needs to get better soon so I can scold him, but that I will do what he would do if he had more time.

***

madame_fish: good morning

etienne-etc: ughhhhh I hardly slept, just got up, haven't even checked my email, have you heard anything??

madame_fish: sorry, my rainbow macaron, no

madame_fish: but I contacted the fencing club, the Mandarin and French clubs, and the Historic Preservationist League, and between them, someone in each of your and Chev’s classes is gonna take notes and keep copies of handouts and stuff for you, and all your professors are gonna hear something plausible about why you’re gone.

etienne-etc: i love you, reinette

madame_fish: ladies, we get the job done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I've noticed a tendency in fics with lots of m/m to practically forget women exist. Even I have to remind myself to remember the ladies. 
> 
> I wedged so many people in here, lol. I've decided it's okay to cheat a little on the timeframe rule if it allows me to bring in real people who weren't cishet white men. 
> 
> \- Old Fritz was a nickname of King Frederick the Great of Prussia, and the boyfriend thing is based on a true story. Imagine being 18 and your father makes you watch someone decapitate your best friend/likely lover because you tried to run off to England together. He fainted. On the other hand, he was very close to his musically gifted sister Wilhelmine, and confided in her all his life. 
> 
> I didn't make up the flute, the dogs, or the von Steuben connection. He employed young, not-yet-Baron von Steuben as an aide-de-camp. Von Steuben earned his title; he wasn't born into it. I wonder how much deliberate hero worship was going on there, given how similar they sound in some ways. 
> 
> \- Francesco Algarotti was one of those brilliant Age of Enlightenment types, and was also very handsome and Italian and interested. Frederick the Great wrote him an impressive erotic love poem and made him a count. 
> 
> \- Philippe d'Orleans, brother of Louis XIV, had a very successful military career while also doing your standard prince-type things like dutifully producing heirs with your arranged-marriage wife, spending much of your time at court in beautiful dresses, having SO MANY boyfriends whom your first wife tries to get imprisoned or exiled, and in turn trying to get that wife's boyfriends imprisoned or exiled. Since people are complex, he also really loved his kids, created one of the best art collections in Europe to this day, and eventually developed a warm friendship with his second wife. 
> 
> \- Henrietta d'Angleterre, Philippe's first wife until her untimely death (and also his first cousin, because royalty), was not French by birth, but I'm fudging it because she once successfully negotiated a treaty behind the king's back all by herself. Like a boss. Think of what she could have done in a world in which she had more job options than to marry rich.
> 
> \- The real Franklin never met her, just to be clear.


	8. test of our camaraderie and bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teamwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a lot of feels, so brace yourself.
> 
> I used "getting to write the chapter" as my genuine reward for finishing my lesson planning. What have I become?

John got up and decided to follow Missy’s advice. He texted Lewis to tell him he needed a personal day. Then he went for a run. He usually did, but this was an especially important day to get the moment of adrenaline and endorphins. 

Everyone else was still asleep when he got back. Good. They needed it. He showered, ate, and took his meds. He needed to set a healthy example, and also not have Missy on his case.

In the absence of new information, taking a leaf out of Alexander’s book and organizing the information they had seemed liked a good idea. He created a Google Drive and a Slack channel for everyone to share what they found. Apparently the whole PA thing had become ingrained.

He facepalmed when he found out about Alexander’s collapse, but the photo Alexander had sifted out seemed promising. He’d show it to Pierre ASAP. Meanwhile he gave Eliza permission to add and edit, as well as Ada, Friedrich, Pierre, and Missy. 

After a moment’s thought, he sent a group email asking everyone to contribute every single bit of knowledge they had that might be relevant at all. Special request to Eliza to share everything she’d learned about runaway LGBT+ teens since transferring to Adolescent First Floor Ward. Just in case something from Chev’s past was involved. 

He also asked Eliza, and copied Missy, if they could find any potentially useful info on Aromatase Excess Syndrome, because he could Google until the cows came home without knowing what sources and data could genuinely help them. Like Neil Gaiman wrote once, a search engine can give you thousands of answers, and a librarian (or professional in general) can give you the one correct one.

***

Pierre got up, confirmed it was Chev’s car, and unsuccessfully tried to contact Ada to find out where the picture was. There were numerical coordinates of some kind attached, but nobody in the apartment knew what they meant. When she didn’t reply right away - probably in class or something, very normal, she would certainly reply when she could - he discreetly screamed into a pillow. Then he consented to breakfast. 

He made more phone calls to the French Embassy after that. Then he screamed into a pillow some more. At the encouragement of others, he lost himself in homework and assigned reading for awhile.

***

Lafayette called Pierre’s phone. Pierre handed it to John, having previously already explained why he was going to do that. John nodded and walked to his own bedroom, phone in hand, and shut the door. 

“It’s me, not him,” John said. In retrospect it wasn’t super helpful, but Lafayette understood.

“What the hell is going on?” Lafayette growled. “Adrienne saw the tumblr post, for I have no tumblr, and I have not been informed of anything. Moreover, will Pierre not speak to me?”

“He told me that the fact that you do ‘lifestyle D/S’ with him makes him want to please you when you interact directly, and is worried he'd change his mind even though you'd never overrule him like that on purpose. He doesn’t want you directly involved, because we need someone with deniability to intervene if things seriously go south. I have pointed out that as you’re about to leave the country, this is a terrible time for you to get involved in anything of potentially dubious legality. We’re going vigilante here, Laf, and Adrienne and your baby need you to get home smoothly in a few weeks.”

Lafayette sighed. “Adrienne can hear you, given acoustics in this room, and she has just said that Pierre most likely is looking to stop running to me and having me fix everything, too. Which hurts, but in a way I comprehend.”

“I promise I’ll ask you for help if there’s something you can do that won’t go against everything I just said.”

“I will resist the temptation to take this horse by the reins.”

“Thank you.”

***

Ada got in touch with them around eleven to tell them that Chev’s car had been towed from it’s original location. Parked there for too long. She’d found the registration and the number of the tow truck company. 

Pierre’s scheme approached sitcom, but nobody could think of anything better. The one bit of conflict was when he said, “My voice is too high, and when John gets a certain kind of stressed the South Carolinian comes out. Friedrich should make the call. Plus he’s technically old enough to be Chev’s father.”

“Assuming I sired them at age seventeen,” Friedrich huffed, though he got his phone out. 

“Well, John got someone pregnant when he was eighteen, so -” then Pierre stopped, horrified by what he’d just said. He’d forgotten that Friedrich had already left the ward when John shared that painful, personal memory in group therapy.

Friedrich looked like he was trying to will himself out of corporeal existence.

John took a few deep breaths, reminded himself of who Martian was to him _now_ , and then cleared his throat. “We’re all under tons of pressure. Many Newtons of pressure, if that’s the right unit. Stuff slips out. I forgive you. Let’s move on.”

To match Chev’s driver’s license, Friedrich had to refer to them as his son. He practiced the spiel a few times first to avoid slipping up. Reading out the registration info was proof enough for the company. He claimed that his son went on a bender all weekend. Despite having driven sober and gotten drunk later (no need for Chev to face a DUI), his son remembered that 'he' had dropped some very important and valuable possessions in the parking garage where he’d originally parked, but couldn’t remember which garage it was or when he’d parked there.

Friedrich thanked the woman on the other end for the information, and said that since ‘Charlie’ needed to learn a lesson, the car was going to stay there for another day or two, if that was okay. He might stop by to make sure the boy hadn’t scratched it, though. 

***

Pierre went with Friedrich, since he was the one familiar with Chev’s car. His cover was as the younger brother who was here to learn a lesson by example. 

“Chev’s purse is peeking out from under the passenger seat,” Pierre whispered in French. “That means Chev was presenting as male, but planned to return to the car soon and go back to androgyny.” 

Then they went to the original garage, which was a relatively short walk from the embassy. Now they could be reasonably sure that Chev had been on the way to the appointment, which gave them an estimate of when the appointment must have been.

***

Eliza informed them that she’d checked the official website, and _visa appointments at the French Embassy were never that late in the day._

Pierre requested that he spend the car ride back to the Laurenses’ place wrapped in a blanket burrito. Friedrich made it happen. 

***

Missy got up in the early afternoon, as usual, and over her brunch she asked if anyone had contacted Chev’s parents.

“I asked around. Nobody knows how to contact them, and the university admin were not forthcoming.” Pierre was currently helping Friedrich untangle yarn for Friedrich’s knitting, which Missy suspected was busywork. “We could ask Ada…”

“We’re asking a lot of her. Let’s see if I can give it a shot.”

“Chev changed their name when they turned eighteen, though they said they included parts of their old one.”

Missy cracked her knuckles, because she’d rewatched a telenovela episode after Pierre went to bed, and she was still in a melodramatic mood. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I could have found John sooner. Let me redeem myself.”

In the kitchen, John dropped a ladle.

***

Franklin called them, and Pierre immediately put it on speaker. “I told her the various types of information you want, with a watertight excuse, I promise. Henrietta decided that it wouldn’t be particularly dangerous to reveal the recent vacation days or sick leave of up to four specific employees. She needs to know names, though. She won’t do it en mass. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“Are you kidding? This was really fantastic of you, Franklin, thank you.” Pierre stroked his phone like it was a puppy that had just performed a trick for the first time. 

Friedrich coughed. “I know a club that hosts a number of things, but also has vanilla swingers’ nights, just so you know. There's a semiannual orgy. They don’t admit cis men who aren’t vouched for by an established member. If you ever want to be vouched for, I will.”

“You know me so well,” Franklin said cheerfully.

***

Three hours after she started, Missy did a little dance in her chair. “I found a couple who lists a son named Charles Beaumont, and they have French relatives with the very telling surname of d’Eon, who list themselves as having a ‘young American loved one’ named Charles-Genevieve Beaumont d’Eon. I think those relatives are a better bet for someone Chev would confide in.”

Pierre messaged Chev's both parents. Their mother responded shortly, told him he was being a sweetheart, but that Chev had a history of this sort of stunt. Pierre’s protests didn’t make any headway.

Missy eventually found a d'Eon who listed her phone number publicly. John asked Lafayette to call that one since he was the one fluent French speaker they knew who both called France often and wasn’t in danger of sobbing partway through the call. Fortunately, the time difference was reasonable, and it was a completely aboveboard thing to do. 

Lafayette followed up shortly afterwards. Chev had applied for a work visa, not a tourist visa, which the relatives feared would be complex given Chev’s history. Lafayette had learned the name of the prospective employers, and “enough, perhaps, to impersonate a conscientious member of management?” John consulted with Pierre, who sighed and said that Pierre had called so many times by this point that they would recognize his voice, and Lafayette was the only other one of them who'd have a native accent. Fine. Sketchy, but not that serious. 

***

Lafayette got through to a woman who said she’d been contacted by a person by the name of Charles-Genevieve Beaumont d’Eon, yes, and been aware of the person’s unusual situation. However, her superior had asked that she hand over the responsibility to him instead, and not spread the information around, as a way to be sensitive towards the applicant’s difficulties. Of course she was happy to assist d’Eon’s sponsors. The superior in question had gone home early today. 

Though she was sorry, Monsieur, it would be a breach of protocol to share a private phone number, let alone address, for Monsieur Claude Guerchy.

***

Henrietta graciously allowed them to know that Guerchy had taken both yesterday and last Friday off work.

***

Pierre called Reinette and asked her if she knew if Chev knew anyone named Claude.

The first thing she said was: “Oh shit.”

***

PE: Hey Ada, you online?

AL: Yup.

PE: Could you find a home address for a ‘Claude Guerchy’, DC Metropolitan area, reasonable commute from the French Embassy?

AL: And here I was worried you were going to ask for something hard. 

***

John and Missy had a minor spat about whether or not Missy was going with them to the address Ada found. 

“Don’t worry about me being late for work; Aaron can stay late. He owes me.”

“It’s not about that.” John put his hands on Missy’s shoulders. “Guerchy might not be working alone, and he’s clearly unstable. Pierre has to go because we don’t know what state Chev’s going to be in, and Chev’s going to find him the most comforting. I have training from the Army. Friedrich has training from whatever it was he used to do.”

“They had excellent training,” Friedrich said, not pausing in putting on his boots. “Speaking of which, remind Fritz I will visit him soon.”

“As you said, Jack, we don’t know what state of mind Chev’s going to be in. Who here has a recent Red Cross certification and training in how to deal with people who are freaking the hell out, without hurting them? Who here can tell the difference between needing to call Eliza, needing to call Dr. Ramzi and get him involved, or needing an ambulance? The last distinction is obvious, but the other one isn't. Chev's met me. We all know Eliza super well and she radiates peace. She's already in on the investigation, too. A new strange man might not be the most calming thing, if we can avoid it.” 

“She has a point,” Pierre said, struggling with his coat buttons because his hands were shaking. Friedrich helped.

“I can’t lose you again,” John said softly.

“That makes two of us, but we gotta do stuff anyway, you know? I’ll hang back. In the car, even.”

***

“Maybe he’s not home and...left Chev in the dark,” John said, wondering what things had come to when this was the most optimistic thing he could think of.

Pierre shook his head. “Look at the dead leaves piled up in front of the door. Look at the packages on the doorstep. Nobody’s been home for days and days.”

“Maybe it’s the wrong house,” Missy said, clutching the first aid kit to her chest.

Friedrich bent down and shook his head. “Look at the mail, indeed. In a sense, yes, it’s the wrong house. It is, however, Claude Guerchy’s house.”

Pierre moved his arm. John was ready to grab him and stop him from punching the door, because that was a recipe for breaking your hand unless you really knew what you were doing. But all Pierre did was lay his palm flat against it, and stand very, very still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the Happy Ending tag, and forgive me.
> 
> ***
> 
> Oh, 'lifestyle' in the BDSM, S&M (which is consensual pain and humiliation focused), and D/S (which is power focused) sense means using certain elements in ordinary life as well. I mentioned this in Tomorrow and Tomorrow, but without using the term. Recap: Pierre generally lets Lafayette and Adrienne low-key boss-around-yet-coddle him no matter the setting, while with his other partners that's only for sexytimes. (Not counting purely comfort things, like the blanket burrito in this chapter.)
> 
> Benjamin Franklin sure loved his sexcapades. 
> 
> Ever since the last chapter, I've had Frederick the Great's appearance on Epic Rap Battles of History stuck in my head. _I'm Frederick the Great, first Servant of State, oblique attacks (,) ain't exactly straight..._ ERB knows their comma usage.


	9. seize the moment and stay in it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the plot doesn't so much thicken as quicken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:
> 
> \- Implied, not described non-con perpetration/physical assault fantasies that do not get carried out  
> \- Offscreen, under-negotiated S&M by people in a very unhealthy state of mind  
> \- Someone getting choked (not to death, not detailed)  
> \- Strangulation threats  
> 

It took Chev until sunset to get that damn bottle out the damn window, but they did it. They did it. They felt a warm glow of victory.

Only for it to turn into icy terror when the door opened, and they had time to drop the plunger but not to hide it, nor to close the window, which insisted on letting in an obvious gust of wind right that moment.

The man flicked the light on and let the door swing all the way open, which had never happened before, and stalked towards the window to slam it shut. He picked up the plunger and threw it towards the door, the clatter deafening in Chev’s ears, despite probably not actually being that loud. Then he started herding Chev into a corner.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I had to try, but I didn’t have time to scream yet, I swear, I’m sorry, please -”

The man said nothing, but he bent down grabbed the lapels of Chev’s jacket, starting to haul them up and making the chain painfully taut. Chev started begging in French too, just in case.

“STOP!”

The other one rushed in, surgical mask on but crooked, none of the other disguise components in place. Chev had never seen them side by side before. This one was shorter. He grabbed one of the taller man’s elbows and tugged insistently.

The taller man was thrumming with rage, but he let go of Chev and let them sink back down to the floor. He scooped up the mat Chev had been using as a meager form of comfort, and took it with him as he followed the shorter man back out the door.

After the door was locked, Chev uncurled and fetched some toilet paper (depriving someone of toilet paper must have been against the Geneva Convention, surely). They weren’t crying. They just needed to blow their nose.

This wasn’t a moment, this was a movement. The partnership between those two clearly had fractures in it. They might not agree on certain things, at least not anymore. Given the pattern so far, Chev was certain the shorter one wouldn’t always be around.

Chev couldn’t rely on outside help. Others might be as ingenuitive (was that a word?) and fluent in French, but no one could match their resilience. They needed more practical tactics.

The two were shouting at each other in the next room, which they’d never done before, especially not loud enough to make out words. Chev paid close attention.

***

“Are you trying to undermine my authority?”

“No! But I’m not going to be an accomplice to...whatever you were thinking of doing back there. _Just like I couldn’t be an accomplice to what you were obviously contemplating when he was unconscious!_ ”

“They need to learn a lesson!”

“What are the police gonna care about, huh? A kid known for disappearing and reappearing doing just that - in the exact same timeframe he did the first time before informing his parents - with a strange story but no solid proof? Or a kid reappearing all banged up?”

“I concede that, but…”

“Look, if you need to get this out of your system, my safeword is ‘mercy’. I’ve got more stuff in the closet where I was keeping the chain and cuff! Have at it!”

“Really?”

“I’m consenting. If you mark me up, you’d better cover for me at work tomorrow.

“Are you sure?”

“YES!”

***

_Slack channel: #bringthemhome_

Eliza:

Everyone everyone everyone I looked through Ada's latest info digest and found a tweet!! I hope I embedded it correctly

**Hunting #pokemon before work, found this bottle at the bottom of a hill, is it real?**

[ **Picture** ]

**#randomfind #chev #whoischev**

 

***

Chev had been only eating half a protein bar at a time until the next one appeared, in case the schedule changed, but when the tall one slid the morning one over, Chev ate all of it. They needed their strength.

The shorter one came in sometime later, limping, with a bruised bite mark on the base of his neck. Products of the ruckus last night, presumably, which had gone on for at least two hours after the yelling itself stopped. He had another bottle of water, several extra nutrition bars - in flavors Chev hadn’t been provided earlier - and a paperback book. He tossed a paper airplane note within Chev’s reaching distance.

Chev remained in an awkward, I-passed-out-this-way pose on the floor, their left eye just barely positioned above the tile floor and able to see him. He knocked on the wall, presumably to see if Chev was simply asleep.

Supplies still in hand, he crept closer to Chev, a step or two at a time. Chev continued to not react.

“Shit,” he said, making it sound like a prayer.

The last time Lafayette fenced Chev, he took them out for coffee afterwards, calling them a worthy opponent whom he wished every success. Lafayette had confided that he took up fencing as a child because he was naturally clumsy and uncoordinated, and the hope was that it’d teach him to be more graceful.

Chev first took up fencing in middle school because, to a certain extent, it de-emphasized body type. Behind a mask and a jacket, it was much harder to tell if someone was turning into something everyone else called a freak.

Later, Chev valued that it didn’t matter as much if you were strong. It mattered far more if you were swift. If you were unpredictable. If you could strike quickly and get out fast.

The shorter man wasn’t in the best condition now, either, and his hands were full. He was very close now. All other things being equal, Taller Man deserved more pain, but realistically, Chev only had a chance with this one. Shorter Man might not have been shorter than Chev, as it was.

Chev rose up. Chev tripped that goddamn asshole with that goddamn chain and used it to keep him down while Chev got him into a headlock.

The man yelped, but didn’t call for help. Unless he was insanely dedicated to not letting Chev hear his voice (too late, mon ami), this suggested the taller man had left for the time being. 

"I know full well that existing as me, the real me, is inherently hazardous," Chev said, with effort. "So I set out and learned a few things. Some are less standard. This hold is for getting a stronger attacker to pass out..." 

***

John: ok, contacted OP, gave us the name of the street

Eliza: what’d you tell her?

John: just said we’d been looking for it

Eliza: how’s Pierre?

John: better, thanks to you

***

Ada: I’ve tried and tried to find out which house, but I need more data. I’m awesome, but not literally magic

A.Ham: if I were a kidnapper babysitting a captive, I wouldn’t do much cooking

Eliza: Alexander, what are you doing?

John: last I heard, you were being discouraged from sitting up

A.Ham: hear me out! Countess, can you find out who on that street has ordered a pizza since Chev vanished? 

Ada: If they used a credit card, shouldn’t be too much trouble

Pierre: it’s good to have our right hand man back

Friederich: Remind me to buy ada something nice

Ada: hm, you familiar with the steampunk clothing site Clockwork Coture? bc I love their corsets

Pierre: I know a great corseter; they gave Adrienne a coupon after last time, too.

***

Ada: Claude Guerchy ordered a pizza to #1781 the day before yesterday!!

Pierre: !!!!!!!!!! team apt: you have your orders now go man go

Eliza: You’re a genius, Ada

A.Ham: And whose idea was it??

Eliza: You’re also a genius, my beloved. now please do whatever your caretaker says you should be doing instead of this. Let's Skype soon.

Missy: Psst, Eliza, you chill with being on call? It’s not far from Vernon

Eliza: Yes. I’ll stop by the break room (where I am now) to check my phone, every hour, on the hour, until shift ends. If you need me urgently, call angelica and she'll come get me, say "Eliza says trinity". it's a schuyler sis thing

Missy: ilysm g2g

A.Ham: Countess, how’d you find it that fast?

Ada: I have these half-siblings who seem to resent that I’m the ‘legit’ one, and used to send unpaid-for pizzas to my apartment all the time, bc oh the hilarity. I just pulled up the code I wrote ages ago and changed the parameters.

***

Chev was pretty proud of the improvised bonds, even if they’d had to sacrifice their shirt. Their bra and jacket would do. They weren’t comfortable taking clothes off an unconscious person if avoidable, especially considering the revelation that he might well have protected unconscious Chev from Bad Things. His pulse was fine. They didn’t remove the disguise parts, just buckled the man’s belt over the surgical mask as a slapdash gag. Belts were neutral territory.

They were starting to shake a lot now. They made sure to drink water. They sat on the man’s legs, which turned out to be a good idea considering how much he flailed when he came to.

When the sound of the door opening started, though, Chev felt sick and panicky. They faced the man and therefore the wall in order to wrap the chain around his neck without messing up. They needed the man to be pinned against the wall. They’d gotten too tired and weak to subdue him otherwise.

“I haven’t seen his face, but I will strangle him if you don’t let me go. Just let me go, I won’t say anything. I’ll strangle this sonofabitch, I swear!”

“Chev, stop,” a voice said, but that could be the taller man. Those two had known about Chev’s appointment, so why not their nickname?

“I won’t let him go until you throw me the key!”

_”"Nghi ngờ!"_

Only one person would say that to Chev, and its literal translation was not the point. They immediately let go of their hostage and turned around. “Pierre?”

Pierre had other people with him, but Chev couldn't process that right now. Pierre ran to them and clung to them. Chev clung back like they’d never clung in all their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't read the relevant fics, "Nghi ngờ", "to have misgivings" according to my light Vietnamese research, is Pierre's safeword. None of his partners can pronounce it, so it's 100% guaranteed not to be an echo, plus it's possible to say with a full mouth.
> 
> Let's see if this story/my brain lets me take a day or three off now that Chev's been found...


	10. in his shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friedrich and Louie, hashing out a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has brief, implied past dubcon. It also has several mentions of implied past contemplated non-con. That is, didn't really get to the "attempted" stage, but the intent existed. 
> 
> We also have more mentions of past nonconsensual drug use.

[Transcript of audio recording of interview between LOUIS D. PONTIERE and FRIEDRICH WILHELM VON STEUBEN.]

LDP  
What? Seriously, what?

FWVS  
Good afternoon.

LDP  
Since when are you an interrogator?

FWVS  
I was once something that included such duties. 

LDP  
What happened?

FWVS:  
Let's say a misstep and an implacable personal enemy, and leave it at that.

[Brief silence]

LDP  
Um. Are you recording this?

FWVS  
Yes. Your lawyer has advised you to testify against Claude. You've been reluctant.

LDP  
Why do you care? I'm outgunned, outmanned...

FWVS  
This is an effort to prevent a vulnerable young man caught up in this business suffering more than he needs to.

LDP  
(snorts) Chev can apparently take pretty damn good care of himself.

FWVS  
Chev is not a young man, and your continual references to them as "he" are extremely disrespectful. 

LDP  
Sorry - wait, what? Huh?

FWVS  
You got in over your head, didn't you?

LDP  
No. It was my plan. 

FWVS  
What I want to know is: why did you try to tell Chev you were going to send them home after two more days? And that you would to your best to hold back "the other guy", but if he found out about your nice gestures, both of you were going to be in severe trouble?

LDP  
You found the note Chev didn't read because he - I mean they - was setting up a trap.

FWVS  
Yes. Why?

LDP  
I didn't want them to think it was gonna be...

FWVS  
Yes?

LDP  
I bet Pierre's been getting heaped with praise. You must be so proud.

FWVS  
The more you deflect, the blunter I'll get. You took a beating for Chev. Not just a beating, actually.

LDP  
Better for Claude to do things to a masochist he's already...having. Better for the plan. Plus he didn't have to cross that line, if, if, you know, if he got it out of his system with someone who'd enjoy...

FWVS  
You _hate_ being hit. Your masochism is purely for other forms of pain. Unless somehow that hard limit has changed in less than two years, it sounds like you're trying to disguise that you made a significant self-sacrifice. 

LDP  
(shuddering breath) Goddamn it, Friedrich, love me or hate me, pick one. Stop pitying me.

FWVS  
I don't think any of those three would describe my feelings. We're not here to talk about my feelings, either. Pierre's the one you hate. You might find Chev off-putting, but making Chev suffer wasn't the priority. You underestimated Claude's obsession.

LDP  
Yes. 

FWVS  
The photographs at the house suggested that it belongs to your parents, not you.

LDP  
They recently gave it to me.

FWVS  
Oh? How'd your siblings feel about that?

LDP  
(Short, sharp laugh) Dunno. They were all in the same car.

FWVS  
I see.

LDP  
Is that all you're gonna say?

FWVS  
I thought you didn't want me to pity you.

LDP  
Hah. That's why I started following him on Facebook and Fetlife. God, Friedrich, I was such a mess, and you were the last person who I should have wanted to be with, but of course...I had to see what you see in him. 

FWVS  
His facebook wall isn't public.

LDP  
Pfft. Friends of friends can see it. Some of Pierre's friends are on the trusting side, and share interests with me. That was totally aboveboard. As for the Fetlife, do you want me to go into that on record?

FWVS  
(Calmly) The picture is clear enough, tha -

LDP  
Why does he get you when I don't? It's not just being with you, but you love him. You never loved me. You never pretended to love me.

FWVS  
Would you rather I had?

LDP  
Shut. Up. Why does he get family, and friends, and, and, and why, why, I understand your relationship being open so you can get your jollies without being a hypocrite, but why does he get to LOVE someone else, and still you, he doesn't hesitate, he exhibits no restraint...but...but...um...(gasping, shuddering breaths)

FWVS  
But?

LDP  
(Barely audible) He keeps winning anyway.

FWVS  
I definitely don't pity you. I think Pierre would, if he heard that little meltdown, but I have scant patience for that sort of attitude towards someone who's done nothing to you. He isn't even old enough to legally purchase alcohol.

LDP  
It hurt a lot to see Pierre so scared, didn't it? 

FWVS  
Are you trying to make me leave?

LDP  
You just want me to snitch so Chev doesn't have to testify.

FWVS  
That's my primary motivation, yes, with a fairly standard offer of an additional reduction of time, on top of the reduced sentence you're already going to get from pleading guilty. 

LDP  
Pleading innocent's at this point is just stupid; dunno what Claude is playing at. The best being a diplomat can get him in this case is extradition. Maybe French prison is nicer.

FWVS  
Stop worrying about what will happen to him, just what you'll contribute in evidence.

LDP  
I don't...

FWVS  
Chev asked those involved to find a way to offer you more that simply reduced jail time. Something lower-security, more rehabilitation than punishment-oriented.

LDP  
What? Why?

FWVS  
They were quite affected, emotionally as well as literally, when you dragged Claude away from assaulting them.

LDP  
Oh. 

FWVS  
We all got to hear about it in detail when we separated the two of you. They were a tad loopy, though coherent.

LDP  
I don't need a pat on the back for demonstrating a bare minimum of human decency. 

FWVS  
I agree. So earn it. Spare Chev having to go through an ordeal in the spotlight. Do yourself a favor in the process. 

LDP  
You wouldn't get it.

FWB  
(Warm, gentle) I don't understand why you stand to the side, petal.

LDP  
Don't call me that. Please don't call me that.

FWVS  
You were so very in over your head. Did Claude ever tell you why Chev left him?

LDP  
Didn't wanna ask.

FWVS  
He tricked them into getting high, to make them more - Chev used to word "pliable" when giving me permission to tell you.

LDP  
Shit.

FWVS  
(Soft) Aren't you tired of fighting, petal? 

LDP  
...Yes. 

FWVS  
(Even softer) It'll all be better when you're honest with me, petal. Tell me what's wrong. 

LDP  
I'm...ashamed. I'm just so disgusted with what I, what I sparked, what almost happened because of the tantrum I was throwing. (Deep breath) God help and forgive me. Can I have some water? Please? Sir?

[CLICK]

FWVS  
...and it's back on. Box of tissues, too, if you need it.

LDP  
Ah, I remember the first time you said that to me. (Sad giggle) I'll confirm that Claude had the motive and found the opportunity. I helped with the means, but it became clear that if I hadn't, he would have still tried a different scheme. Unspoken, but he had way too many ideas and talked too much about payback to not have thought about it.

FWVS  
You provided the structure of the plot, the house, the actual bonds -

LDP  
Remembered them, did you?

FWVS  
How many pairs of handcuffs do you have? 

LDP  
Just the one. We uncoupled it and put only one cuff on Chev so he - they - could take care of their own physical needs. The chain was part of the set. Why?

FWVS  
Later. Did Claude show any earlier signs of aggression that alarmed you? 

LDP  
When we first caught Chev, I helped subdue them until Claude could force them to drink the sedative. No, I don't know what it was, just that Claude said it would act quickly but he calibrated it to Chev's build to make it safe. I know, now, that it was super dumb and naive of me to go along with him on that, but I - he made it seem like that was the only sensible way. As appears to be my habit, I overestimated the extent to which going to bed with a man will get me what I want. Not that you'd know anything about that.

FWVS  
I'm continuing to respect your desire not to have my pity. Where did the aggression come in?

[Brief silence]

LDP  
Right. Claude was going to have us put Chev in the trunk, but I thought they might suffocate or get injured. I didn't want to seem like I was challenging him so early in the game. If you want to win in the game, you gotta stay in the game. So I played it self-deprecatory, said he wasn't steeped in the kink scene like I am - he's not up on BDSM etiquette or ritual at all - and I said I had it so heavily ingrained in me not to leave a bound person unattended that I'd be freaking out all the way home. 

FWVS  
And he reacted badly?

LDP  
No, ruffled my hair, despite not that big of an age gap, not like you and Pierre, and said that was adorable. Said I could keep them company, sitting in the backseat, if I hid them under a blanket on the floor of the car. They're pretty short. Scrunch up well. I'm telling you this for context.

FWVS  
Go on.

LDP  
We get them in the bathroom and chained and check their pulse and leave the food and water and extra blanket, everything, right? I'm about to go fix a drink, about to offer to make one for Claude too, then he, then, then, he - then he gets on his knees - and I'm not getting cold feet about my own plan, but still, Chev's only 23, and they're all puppet with cut strings...I want to get out of there. But Claude gets down on his knees and starts unzipping Chev's jacket. I play dumb and say better not, the bathroom's not insulated super well, and he says, "I'll put it back on later. There is time. Go amuse yourself elsewhere if you wish."

FWVS  
Your response?

LDP  
I almost clocked him over the head and aborted the whole damn thing, but I thought I was in so deep, it would be easier to just swim down. I told him I had fun things left in the box where the chain had come from. I said "you ain't seen nothin yet", all flirty. Suggested that drink. He thought about it. He rezips Chev's jacket, but creepily plants a kiss on their lips. He never kissed me unless we were in foreplay. Made it worse. He gets up, though, and switches to French, says that sounds like an appropriate celebration. On a physical level, the rest of the night was great.

FWVS  
You're right that I don't get why you didn't say all this earlier.

LDP  
First, because I'm so appalled that I assumed he wouldn't try anything on Chev if they weren't drugged. I disgust myself. Now I'm going to have to confirm under oath that I facilitated scenarios that I barely averted. Also, if you don't believe me, you're gonna think I'm trying to play a hero.

FWVS  
Your logic fascinates me in a trainwreck sort of way, but I'll have mercy on that last point. Chev overheard your shouting match with Claude after you stopped him a second time. Their report corroborates yours. 

LDP  
Oh. I...Thank you, Sir. 

FWVS  
You only own one pair of handcuffs, you said. While searching for Chev's shoes and wallet, someone found a bag containing two pairs of handcuffs and two small bottles marked C and L, respectively.

LDP  
No.

FWVS  
You should thank your lucky stars that Chev and their search party caught you two, really. Regardless of the nature and timeframe of Claude's plans.

LDP  
Why didn't you tell me earlier?

FWVS  
The more you revealed purely out of remorse, the greater your chances for clemency.

LDP  
I just realized you haven't ticced at all.

FWVS  
Certain types of focus temporarily keep it at bay. I don't while I'm in a writing flow, either.

LDP  
I had no idea.

FWVS  
I think we're done.

LDP  
Is that it?

FWVS  
I don't pity you. I think you're lying in the grave you dug yourself, and a much better person than you has elected to take a few bits of wood you scraped up and made it into a ladder. I've lowered the ladder. 

LDP  
You're right, Sir.

[Very long silence]

FWVS  
I'll admit it, I'm sorry for not letting you down more gently, petal. 

LDP  
I'll take what I can get. 

*****

Friederich checked his messages when he got in his car, before starting it up. There was a lightly encrypted email from Fritz, an easy substitution cipher Pierre could have figured out as brief amusement. He would have been slowed down by the unscrambled version being in German, though.

_Old friend, you owe me nothing, except perhaps a visit when Wilhelmine or Franceso can't join me for the standard hours. You might also buy me a drink in two weeks when I'm at liberty. Twisting arms until you got your pension after being dismissed was the right thing to do, and so is ensuring that fascinating young person receives the maximum amount of assistance you're able to give. I appreciate your recommendation of this facility, as well. Ms. Laurens has won my heart, and I am glad to have lessened her worries about her friends in a small way. I must, however, inform you that to remove various impediments, I had to talk to Mr. 15, and was obliged to tell him parts of the tale. However you may feel about him, he has resources beyond mine._

Ugh. Mr. 15 was like gilded toilet paper: luxe to the point of barely being good for shit. He probably had an angle. Whatever it took, though. It would be worth it to see that last bit of tension leave Pierre's shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about a misstep and personal enemy is taken from a historical von Steuben quote.
> 
> In the nonfiction book An Anthropologist on Mars, Oliver Sacks spends a chapter on a surgeon with Tourette's Syndrome who ticced dramatically and frequently - except when operating.


	11. swear I'll make y'all proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denouement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Time Out of Mind series has bits and pieces of Chev's future after this fic, but for another substantial story focused on them and Pierre, you need to switch to the fifth story on the Our Agency track, "and hold your tongue". Maybe of these days I should make a chart and character guide. Either way, thank you for reading!
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter contains Claude musing creepily, but what else is new?

“To this day, some locals claim that on a moonless night, if you’re walking alone past this here Confederate Cemetery, you will hear the hoofbeats.” Chev paused, and said in their non-mystical voice, “And this would be the point where someone hidden in the bushes starts up on the coconut shell noises. Started. Did everything go the same, except for someone taking over my guide position?”

Pierre shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. He leaned against the locked gate of the historical burial ground, to demonstrate further nonchalance, and very casually said, “I have no idea. I was busy panicking and crying and scrubbing off my makeup.”

“Oh, you ideal minibon.” About six months into their friendship, Chev claimed calling Pierre a perfect cinnamon roll might be accurate, but needed personalization. They drove Pierre to the mall, located a Cinnabon, and the pair pondered the menu to solve the conundrum. Pierre didn't like the tase of cinnamon, but Chev loved it, and that was the clincher.

Missy’s boyfriend-any-day-now, Dr. Ramzi David, had been kind enough to write Chev a note excusing them for being absent on the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday they’d spent prisoner, along with the Thursday and Friday they’d spent giving statements to the police and recovering a bit. Chev didn’t want to tell their professors the truth. For attendance policy purposes, Chev had received a head injury in a minor car accident, and been in a brief coma.

As for the Tumblr Missing Person post Pierre made at the beginning of his search, Ada had written what she referred to as a small search-and-destroy virus. She hoped to one day create a sophisticated program capable of recalling, or at least significantly reducing, the spread of revenge porn uploads, slanderous claims, mistakes the source wished to redact, and so on, in such a way that couldn't be repurposed as censorship. This was one of her baby steps towards it. 

Chev’s parents knew an outline of the truth, which Chev wasn’t thrilled about filling in, but would go see them and do that soon. According to Chev, fences didn’t mend and simply stay mended. You had to maintain them. They didn’t want their parents to agonize over mistakenly thinking Chev was fine and just acting out again, when Chev considered that a reasonable assumption. Their relationship with their parents had its painful aspects, still, but it was a relationship they all wanted to work at.

Dr. Washington wrote Pierre a note claiming Pierre’s medications had malfunctioned on a severe scale, necessitating a few days of hospitalization. The combined power of Lafayette, Alexander, and John entreating him was enough to make him do it without question. On Reinette’s instructions, Pierre’s friends had started telling professors similar things from the get-go. Pierre already had paperwork filed with the Office of Disability Services, and it was understood that such things might happen to him. Fortunately, his attendance and grades were otherwise excellent.

A week later, Chev was allowed to eat their usual portions at meals without Missy fretting they’d hurt themself. Chev objected to her fussing until they found out she’d spent time in an eating disorder facility. Then they started following medical advice to the letter.

They still had a bandage around their right wrist, currently hidden under their light autumn gloves. It had looked truly hideous and raw once they got the shackle off, from all the twisting and straining Chev had done, and then Claude yanking Chev to their feet. Ramzi said it’d heal in less than a month if they cared for it properly.

(Friedrich successfully forcing Louie to tell them where the key was, by threatening to share the story of ‘that time we tried beeswax’, had been funny in a horrible way. While they were all waiting to ambush Claude, the same threat had gotten Louie to sign a check paying for Chev’s car towing fees.)

“It was very sweet of you to do this,” Chev continued, bringing Pierre back to the cemetery, to the street that led from campus to the historic downtown, to the purpling sky above, the crisp air and the datefriend who was alive and smiling and _safe_. “I did think about how I learned all those lines for nothing, you know.”

“Hey - learned those lines - I was supposed to mill around Marye Heights looking sad and extra gray, and wouldn’t have gotten to hear your tour.” Pierre was about to stop leaning against the gate, but Chev stepped towards them and gripped a bar on either side of him.

The two were roughly the same height when barefoot. However, regardless of how femme Chev was otherwise dressed on a given day, they almost always wore high heels or platforms of some kind or other. Some looked like heeled versions of masculine shoes. Shoes and clothing were the only things Chev was relatively extravagant on, though more by quantity than price. Lots of thrift store and yard sale buys. Apparently AES meant Chev had spent a brief, magical time taller than all the other kids, before they abruptly stopped growing upwards, and started getting the “wrong” kind of puberty instead.

It was a combination of the heels and force of personality that made Chev loom. In a nice way. A protective, devoted, focused sort of way. “I’ve got important business tomorrow morning, so I can’t take as much time with you as I’d like, you brave, clever boy. Let’s make the most of what we have. Hm?”

“Yes.” Chev wasn’t into honorifics, so Pierre showed his state of mind by keeping his replies short and deferential.

“I’m going to kiss you now, to tide me over until we get to your place. Don’t want any more ghosts following us.”

 _Any more than we’ve already got,_ Pierre thought to himself. There’d already been a conversation about Chev not being able to put handcuffs on Pierre for now, possibly ever, and there was a possibility of needing to declare ‘yellow’ if they tried restraining Pierre some other way. That was more than fine. Even if Pierre and Chev had been monogamous, it wasn’t important compared to the dearly won gift that was their lips against his.

“Shall we go?” Pierre murmured when they separated.

Chev cradled Pierre’s face in their hands. “You took care of me. Time for me to take care of you. Let’s go home, love.”

***

Claude thought it excessive to have one wrist handcuffed to the table for a simple meeting with a representative from the Embassy to discuss his options. Unless one of these Americans thought it was funny, given what Claude had done. Had _allegedly_ done. He needed to remember to use that word.

Shortly thereafter, Claude concluded that it was in fact to keep him from leaping up and strangling Charles-Genevieve when they sashayed in, door closing behind them. They were in full Genevieve, slinky dress and stockings, knee-high boots meant both for walking and for stomping a fallen foe in the face. They’d given themselves smoky eyes and full lips. They'd spent far too long staring at Louie’s imbecilic issue of Vogue.

“We’re fortunate enough to have two minutes of privacy,” Chev said, sitting down. “It only took a little pressure to get me in here, though for convoluted reasons I have to pretend to be one of your female coworkers. The correct one will actually come deal with you later, once she sorts out the completely innocent personnel mixup. You’ve embarrassed a lot of people, Claude, if you haven’t disgusted them. Like, if you went out and about right now, there’d be a crowd pelting you with rocks pretty quickly.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

They hummed and tapped their newly manicured nails on the tabletop. “Part gloating, part wanting closure, as cheesy as that sounds. I won’t be seeing you again.”

Louie had rolled over, then, providing enough dirt that Chev could exit the scene and take their shovel with them. Claude should have stashed the two of them in his own basement when he still had the chance, rather than drawing out the period in which Chev - the far more devious and dangerous one - was getting conveniently weaker, and Louie was playing along. He’d nearly finished drafting Louie’s resignation from work. Might as well get a few months of extra use out of a pretty partner in crime who knew too much, before his assignment in this country ended and he had to tidy away both his secrets.

He took a deep breath. He was pleading innocent. Almost all the evidence was the word of a handful of clearly unbalanced people - one of whom was Louie’s ex - who’d broken and entered, plus screwed-up seductive subordinate Louie himself, and finally a freak he’d picked up from the street. Chev had been patched up by a medical technician and a nurse from the band of misfits, not gone to a hospital that would have kept proper records. The one piece of reliable physical evidence was his hidden kit of two pairs of handcuffs and the carefully premeasured “roofies”, as he believed the slang term was, but it was circumstantial, and could be explained as more paraphernalia for Louie’s perverse but legal activities. By a good lawyer. The more-damning draft of Louie’s resignation might be on cloud storage, but it was far more secure than your standard Google Doc and so on, and Claude doubted someone would be sufficiently motivated and have the skill to find it.

This all meant he shouldn’t say anything incriminating, within and beyond whatever the Fifth Amendment might do for him, even to the vicious minx.

“It’s regrettable that our falling out has caused you so much distress,” he said.

They laughed. “I’ve been told that it’s okay, understandable, to have a few good memories of you, even though I hate your guts. You were manipulative and skilled at it. If it had been horrible all the time, I would have wised up sooner. I won’t waste anymore of either of our time. I just have one last thing to say.”

Claude didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of asking what it was, but the silence stretched on and on and on, and Claude didn’t get the compensation of finding Chev to be arousal fodder when they were being Genevieve. “What?”

“You made a number of comments about the size of my dick, when I lived with you. You were trying to hurt my feelings. Guess what?” Chev got to their feet.

“What?” Claude asked, rolling his eyes.

“Last night I got head from someone who’d never been able to do that before, someone who has to cut pills in half due to sensitivity, who was thrilled to find someone who _fit_. He did it _eagerly_. With _love_. Wanted me to tell you, when I told him the backstory. As for the rest of me, a whole crew of people assembled to get me away from you. All that work, all that effort, all that love. I’ve always feared rejection. I wore my indifference as armor. You knew that, and you played on it. To paraphrase one of my favorite songs, all those things you told me to fear? I’ve got them in my life now, and _you’re not welcome here_.”

They blew him a kiss and left.

***

Reinette handed Chev a pack of makeup wipes when they got in the car. “Believe me yet?”

“Yes. Wow. Thanks for helping me with the eyeliner, by the way. My hands were shaking. I’m steady now.” Earlier in the week, Reinette had approached them with a summary of what the Agency was about, and what it was offering them. She’d given them a few days to think about it. They’d tentatively agreed, but demanded a final proof.

She patted them on the shoulder before putting on her sunglasses against the glare. She turned the keys in the ignition. “As for the things you asked that aren’t in the standard pre-commitment briefing, I just got permission to tell you. Mr. 15 isn’t asking you to give up that summer job in France. You’ve more than earned it, and it would look weird for you to suddenly drop it anyway. He's been flexible with my schedule so I can graduate next spring, and you'll get the same.”

Chev had only decided to go to law school because it seemed like something practical that played to their strengths. The things Chev had always really wanted to do had always seemed impossible. They never thought they might get an attractive offer because of their nature, rather than despite. “I hope he can think of a better cover for me rather than me being little someone on the side, though.”

“I had a word with him about having to claim to be his mistress. Hence the archeological dig thing. Still figuring it out. He has his strengths and weaknesses as a boss.” Reinette had explained that they didn’t use real names for people, or the Agency itself, when at all possible. She pulled out onto the road. “Mr. 15 contacted me while you were in there to say I can elaborate on the “you can tell one person” rule. You’ll be allowed to tell one person who isn’t a current or approved ex-member. There’s a list of approved ex-members. The standard categories are family by blood or law, or a spouse."

“What about people who are aromantic or not interested in marriage or whatever, and have no relatives they want to tell?”

“You may also apply for another relationship of yours to be treated as equally serious and secure, but it’s subject to admin approval. It’s not a perfect system, but at least they’ve taken the idea into account, and they do eventually evolve when it comes to policy being inclusive. Anyway, any of these people must sign an NDA. I'm going to tell Marie after our little courthouse wedding. It's a secret because she's not out except for friends. No guests. She asked me to become monogamous when we got engaged, though I think Pierre assumes the guy I'd supposedly the mistress of has forbidden me from playing with him."

Chev knew and was very fond of Marie Leszczyńska, and knew that Reinette had been with her for some time, but the rest was new. "Congratulations."

“I know it's daunting. I'll be here for you.” Reinette waved at the glove compartment. “There’s an envelope in there. FAQ. I can clarify stuff. You have until we’re five minutes from the meeting point. You said you wanted in if we could get you a chance to see Claude, but if whatever you read makes you want out, tell me and I’ll take you home. We’ll destroy the letter, and you’ll never tell anyone. Got it?”

“Got it.” They took it out and started reading. At one point they gasped.

“Did you get to the part about the penalties for betrayal?”

“No, I got to the part where your student debt gets paid, if you have any.”

She grinned and otherwise let them read.

When they finished, they stared into space for a moment and said, “Wow.”

“Mr. 15 was really impressed with how you handled your abduction, and what you shared about your ‘gone year’ in that one essay contest. I’m sorry I wasn’t allowed to get involved more directly.”

Chev felt a spark of pride at that essay finally getting them something rather than runner-up mention. “I totally understand. So, uh. Do I sign?”

“No, keep your name out of as much as you can. Put fresh lipstick on and press your lips to the bottom of the page. Lip prints are unique, but governments are less likely to have them on file. Take the tape out of the glove compartment and tape over the print. Carefully, don’t smudge. There will be other, more binding documents later, but it's best to be tidy.”

Chev did as they were told, feeling like there should be music swelling in the background. “Done.”

She cheered. “Oh, before you have the immediate freakout I did after I kissed, they’re not lying about there being a way to get out again. Friedrich von Steuben did it.”

“What?” That explained a few things, but it also raised questions about Pierre’s unwitting taste in partners.

“You can talk to him about it. He will have mixed feelings about you joining, possibly, but his circumstances were unique. Anyway, Mr. 15 has codenames for trainees. When you’re done with training, you can change it if you want. Everyone who works in his division has Title plus Adjective. In a professional context, I’m Madame Persuasive. He let me have input in yours.”

“Of course he did, Madame Persuasive.” Chev knew Mr. 15 respected their identity, but they still had a moment of fear that they’d be given something that put them in a box.

Madame Persuasive stopped at a red light and shook their hand. “Nice to meet you, Mx. Cavalier.”

Perfect. Mx. Cavalier squeezed her hand before letting it go. “Let's go laugh in the face of casualties and sorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A Cinnabon store/stand mostly sells fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
> 
> \- I think you can guess where I went to college, and what happened on the land on and around it a few decades before the campus was built.
> 
> \- Bonsoir and Gute Nacht mention that Pierre is insecure about his extremely sensitive gag reflex. I didn't want to get too explicit in a T fic, but I really wanted to resolve that little arc for him, and fight back at the whole bigger = better thing, too.
> 
> \- The song Chev paraphrases is "Control" by Poe, and the narrator is defiantly telling a former abuser how she's gained control of her own life and is now thriving
> 
> \- Marie Leszczyńska of Poland was King Louis XV's wife, and she got along quite well with Antoinette "Reinette" Poisson, Madame du Pompadour, her husband's mistress. 
> 
> \- I consider that last line the one (modified) Hamilton lyric that gives a decent description of a cavalier attitude.
> 
> ***
> 
> Okay! Here's the full version actual historical incident that inspired this story! I gave only bits and pieces earlier, in order to keep from showing my hand.
> 
> D'Eon worked for Secret du Roi/Secrets of the King, that answered directly to Louis XV and was hidden from Parliament. The "Chevalier" title was a reward for that. After the Seven Years' War, an ambassador to England was needed, but it would take awhile to install him, so d'Eon was the interim ambassador.
> 
> Comte de Guerchy, real ambassador, gets there. Doesn't like d'Eon and d'Eon's support of Madame du Pompadour, among other things. D'Eon didn't like the demotion. Then, d'Eon claimed that Guerchy tried to drug them. Guerchy denied it. Then d'Eon accused Guerchy of attempted murder. Guerchy sued d'Eon for libel. D'Eon released a vast number of the correspondence the French government had done with d'Eon over the matter, to embarrass and shame them. The British public sided with d'Eon and a mob threw stones at Guerchy's house.
> 
> Treason! (But d'Eon had plenty of juicy stuff on the king) 
> 
> Exile! 
> 
> This is when d'Eon lied and claimed to be DFAB, and to have been Joan of Arc-ing all this time, and therefore not be a threat. D'Eon was not stripped of the Le Chevalier title, but had to be La Chevaliere (I think that was just for d'Eon), for the rest of d'Eon's life. Those were the lengths to which d'Eon went in order to be allowed into France, where they did a number of interesting things, including teaching fencing. 
> 
> As for other parts of the plot, you tell I'm a haphazard but fond watcher of Criminal Minds? I think it does mental illness/ND better than most procedurals.
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting. <3
> 
> *********
> 
> Any interest in something original from me? Maybe an urban fantasy that's way queerer than the summary explicitly says? [ Available as ebook and print form on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DSLT3D2/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1529183871&sr=8-2&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=Donaya+Haymond&dpPl=1&dpID=51cFXjiasBL&ref=plSrch), and in [print from the Barnes & Noble site.](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seasons-turning-donaya-haymond/1129067787?ean=9780999202654)


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